The Treasure Cave of Cave Johnson
by ferndavant
Summary: Pirate AU: Follow Wheatley, both in his original days as a Swabbie and later powder monkey on the Aperture, and later on Captain Chell's ship, the Porthole. What is the secret behind the tresure cave? Pairings: Factventure and Cave/Caroline
1. Chapter 1

Captain Cave Johnson leaned back in his chair and tried to look extremely awesome. It was his job, after all, as a fierce pirate, to look damn frightening, especially as he sat at the head of a sturdy table, holding court with all his trusted ship advisors as they prepared a plan for another adventure.

"Who's gonna throw ideas at me?" he asked.

Several people began talking, but Cave cut them all off.

"How's that mechanical parrot coming, Jeffers?"

"Oh, uh," Jeffers was a jumpy-looking man with a tuft of black hair, "Not very well, Captain Johnson."

"What's the problem?"

"Well, we were trying to get it to run on gunpowder, sir, but it kept exploding."

"That sounds like an excuse. I don't take too kindly to excuses!"

"No, sir. We'll keep trying, if you'll give us a couple of days to mourn Lefevre. Damn thing blew him up."

"Piracy doesn't stop to mourn anyone, Jeffers. I want a mechanical parrot by next Tuesday, or you'll be walking the plank."

Jeffers blanched, "Yes, sir. Of course."

"Godfrey, how's the implementation of the repuslion pitch going for the rowboats."

Another man, this one a rather formidable looking man with broad shoulders and positively frightening muscles, responded, "Not very well, sir. Every time we lower them down, they bounce right off the water."

"Well, don't apply the pitch to the bottom, you idiots!"

Godfrey considered this thoughtfully for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that, sir. We'll get right onto it."

"Excellent," Captain Johnson said, clapping his hands together. "Now, who has a suggestion as to what prize we should plunder next."

The pause Captain Johnson held was infinitesimally small. Had First Mate Caroline been less skilled at her job, she would not have been able to interject her comment in before he'd started off again.

"Sir, I believe Boatswain Rattman has a suggestion," she said.

Boatswain Rattman, who was sitting as far as humanly possible away from Captain Johnson, was busying himself paying far more attention than necessary to the wood grain of the table, looked up, his face horrified. He hated these meetings, and did his best to blend in with the background.

First Mate Caroline however gave him an encouraging smile.

Boatswain Rattman twitched slightly, began speaking, aborted his attempt at speaking with a nervous cough, and then finally spat out what he was trying to say, "Er, I've been doing some research. There's an artifact, and I, uh, think we should go after it. It's called the Mystical Companion Cube of Friendship and Happily Ever Afters."

Cave Johnson frowned, and slammed a hand down on the table, causing Rattman to jump badly, "That doesn't sound very dangerous. And if it's not dangerous, it's not pirate-y."

Caroline interjected, "Well, there's an awful lot of travelling involved. Statistically, the more leagues we travel, the more likely we are to encounter Royal Navy Ships, and the more likely we are to have to engage them in battle. I've done some research, and all evidence suggests that it's-"

Captain Johnson waved a hand, "Alright, alright. Sounds pretty neat. But I think you lot should hear me out, first. Feast your ears on this, baby: The Cursed Amulet of the Mad-Witch Gladys Which Grants Terribly Inconvenient Immortality To Whosoever Bears It. The crew of the Aperture goes after it. I can hear the drinking songs they'll sing about this bit of bravery now..."

There was a marked silence.

Emboldened by his earlier actions, Rattman began, "Erm, sir. Everyone knows the tale of *that* particular piece of treasure. It's supposed to be terribly bad luck to even go after it, not to mention-"

"Nonesense! It's dangerous! That's what we do. Danger is our collective middle names."

"My middle name is Alexander," Godfrey said.

"That's a figure of speech, Godfrey. Try to keep up. Anyway, no one else has ever gone after it. We'd be the first!"

"There's a reason no one else has ever gone after it," Jeffers grumbled.

"And that's what makes us so spectacular!" Captain Johnson said with a grin. Looking around the room, and noting that no one was sharing his exuberance, he let out a sigh. "Alright, we'll vote on it. All in favor of that companion whatsit?"

All of the main crew quickly raised their hands, except for Caroline. Captain Johnson turned to her, widening his eyes, his bottom lip doing what could only be described as a wibble. Caroline blushed, and then suddenly became very interested in the notes she was taking in the Ship's Log, and said in a very quite voice, "Abstain."

Captain Johnson sighed, "Alright, 14 in favor of the cube thing, one abstains, and I vote for the amulet. And since my vote counts as much as every other crew member's, we get to do both! Hooray!"

More silence.

"When I say, 'Hooray,' I expect there to be 'Hooray's,' Caroline and gentlemen."

Everyone proceeded to put on a brave face and hoorays followed.

"Excellent. Now. Thoughts on how we'll plan the route for these two plunderings. I know Caroline has done some research on that cube-a-majig. Now, I have a map that purports to be of the location of that Amulet. First Mate Caroline, where's my map."

"I've got it," said someone who most certainly wasn't Caroline. In fact, the voice belonged to a lanky, awkward looking young man with reddish blond hair, holding a balled up cloth in one hand, and a crumpled lump of paper in the other.

"Who the hell are you?" Captain Johnson asked.

"I'm-"

"I wasn't asking you," Captain Johnson shot back, turning to Caroline, "Who the hell is he?"

"Swabbie Wheatley, sir."

"Who let him in here?" Captain Johnson ask, looking at everyone with anger.

"You did, sir," Caroline offered, "Remember? You'd spilled a drop of grog on the map, and said I should get someone to clean it up. When I brought Swabbie Wheatley, here, you said that he'd do the trick quite nicely."

"Oh," Captain Johnson said, pausing, trying to find out a way that he could still maintain his anger. He seized upon it when he turned back to Wheatley, "What the hell have you done to my map?"

"Er, well, you see, the erm, grog, I was wiping it off with this cloth, but this cloth was covered in tar, and then, I got another cloth, clean this time, and I wetted it with some of the freshwater stores, but then it got all wet and also...tarred, and...oh, erm...yes."

Swabbie Wheately held out the wadded, dripping, piece of paper that was also caked in tar.

"Shall I schedule a flogging for Swabbie Wheatley, sir?" Caroline asked helpfully.

"Oh, no," Captain Johnson said, looming over Wheatley, even though Wheatley was a good foot taller when he wasn't cowering, "No, I think Swabbie Wheately is going to be walking the plank."

"But, but, but, you, no," Wheatley began inarticulately as Godfrey and another man his size began to make a grab from him, "YOU CAN'T KILL ME BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT THE MAP LOOKS LIKE!"

All movement stopped immediately at Wheatley's outburst.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Someone get this man a pen and paper."

Quickly, Wheatley had been forcibly sat at a table, a pen forced into his hand, and a fresh piece of parchment shoved in front of him. From the way he held the pen, it was clear that he could not write. However, as he sketched out a portion of a map, it was clear that he had not been lying about remembering what the map looked like.

Wheatley put the pen down suddenly.

"Well, what are you doing, go on, finish the map?"

Wheatley shook his head, "No. I've got the map in my head. If I draw it now, how do I know you won't throw me overboard after you've got it?"

Cave Johnson glared at him for a minute and then broke into laughter, clapping Swabbie Wheatley on the back. "I like your style, Wiffle."

"Wheatley, sir."

"Yes, yes. You've got grit. We'll keep you alive, yet. And as of now, you're promoted to...I dunno...cook."

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

Captain Johnson stretched, "Right, well. Everyone out of the captain's quarters. I'm going out to get some fresh air, walk the decks, make sure everything's going ahead well."

Cave Johnson walked out of his own quarters and slammed the door, leaving everyone else who had been in the meeting alone, milling about in a slightly confused state.

"What's a cook meant to do?" Wheatley asked into thin air.

"Don't worry about it," Caroline said, patting him on the back, "Yates, you're still cook. Wheatley, you can be one of our new powder monkeys."

"Oh, that sounds nice. What do they do?" Wheatley asked no one in particular.

"Get blown up, mostly," Godfrey said with a ruthless grin.

Wheatley paled and scurried out.

"Jeffers, I've seen the blue prints of your mechanical parrot. You're going about it all wrong. Consider using a clockwork mechanism rather than the gunpowder one. Much too dangerous. It'll save you a world of trouble and a couple of lives," Caroline said.

Jeffers nodded and ran off. Most of the rest of the crew followed.

"Godfrey, stop drinking on the job, it makes you an idiot. Why would you put repulsion pitch on the bottom of a boat? That'll be a flogging. See Miller about it later."

Godfrey trundled out, looking suitably cowed, his teasing of Wheatley forgotten.

"Rattman," Caroline said finally, "Continue on with the plans to do with the Mystical Companion Cube."

Rattman looked shocked that anyone was speaking to him, "All due respect, I didn't know you knew about them. That was just something I was doing in my spare time."

"It's good work," Caroline said with a smile.

"It's useless. We'll probably get killed finding that damn amulet before he even thinks about the cube."

"I'll try to turn his ear again. He's much more likely to listen to me, and much more likely to be sensible when he's not posturing for the whole crew."

Boatswain Rattman nodded desultorily.

"Oh, and do me a favor. Keep an eye on Wheatley. If he dies, I don't want him taking anyone with him."

"If he dies, he takes the map with him," Rattman said, thoughtfully. Then it dawned on him. "That's horrible. You're putting an idiot around powder and hoping he gets himself blown up."

"I'm not *hoping*," Caroline said, "Piracy's dangerous though. And Wheatley might get himself killed, but if the whole ship goes after the amulet, how many people die then?"

Rattman sighed, nodded, and wandered away. He hated being a pirate. A lot.

30 YEARS LATER

Wheatley, the same Wheatley who, as we have just seen, only narrowly saved his own life 30 years before, stood in a line of various other dodgy seamen, pirates, and privateers as an athletic looking young woman paced back and forth in front of the line, examining everyone before her, her sharp eyes scrutinizing them mercilessly. Wheatley looked much the same as he had 30 years earlier, with one exception: instead of two bright blue eyes, he had one bright blue eye and an eyepatch that hid the disgusting remnants of the eye he had lost in an accident.

The young woman examining Wheatley and the others was Captain Chell O'Redacted. She was ridiculously famous while still being a bit of an enigma. Some said that the sea itself gave birth to her, like that portrait by that Boticelli bloke. Rumor had it that she'd tried to enlist in the Royal Navy at the age of 12. When they had informed her, in the most delicate of terms, that ladies were not accepted into the navy, and that perhaps she would like to go play with a doll, she had reportedly stolen a barrel of gunpowder, a small boat used for excursions on land, 2 pistols, a cutlass and a rapier, and had taken off down the Thames. She was almost to the North Sea before they managed to catch her.

After a stunt like that, authorities did their best to lock Chell up, but she'd broken out, found a ship, and made a name for herself. She was not a pirate, per se. As far as things went, she was probably more accurately the Robin Hood of the Seven Seas. In fact, had things been different, the Crown might have knighted her. She'd sunk more Spanish treasure ships than most of the Royal Navy Higherups combined. Without an official command, however, she was still an enemy of the Crown.

Captain Chell had proceeded to be terribly good at her job, amassing treasure from evil-doers and redistributing it amongst the needy, always taking just enough to keep her ship at sea and her crew content. She also wreaked havoc on the slave trade, commandeering the slavers, and freeing and recruiting their ' goods'. By all accounts, she was an amazing captain: fair, just, compassionate.

And then word went out. Captain Chell had docked her ship, The Porthole, in Port Royal and dismissed all of her crew. She had put out a call for the bravest adventurers to come to Port Royal by the next October. She was amassing a crew to go after the Treasure Cave of Cave Johnson.

Rumor had it that said cave featured more riches than any man had ever seen. It also hadn't been found in the 20-something years since Captain Johnson had shuffled off this mortal coil.

Captain Chell was only looking for the best, the bravest, the smartest, the fiercest, all in pursuit of this fabled treasure. No one would ever describe Wheatley using any of those adjectives. And he wasn't looking for adventure, anyway. He was looking for an easier retirement from his sea-faring days than working in a pub in which violent, mortal fights frequently broke out and disgusting bodily fluids were frequently spilled. He was looking for peace, quiet, freedom, and most importantly, easy money.

And he had a way to get it.

Captain Chell walked up and down the row of brave adventurers and Wheatley. She picked several different men, chatted briefly with others to determine their character or confirm their reputations. She ignored Wheatley entirely. Just when it seemed that Captain Chell had finished picking her crew, Wheatley made his move.

"Erm. Excuse me. Lady? I mean, um, Captain? Yes, you. Right. I have this terribly important piece of information. Might be worth your time. No-no don't walk away. This isn't a come-on. I know where the Treasure Cave of Cave Johnson is!"

Captain Chell hesitated for a minute, then shrugged. She had time to humor the town drunk. "Name?" She said curtly. She was a person of few words.

"Frederick Wheatley. I-I was on the Aperture. I was the erm-" no harm in a little white lie to sweeten the pot, "the Weapon's Master. That's me, yeah. Bloody heroic."

Something burned in Chell's eyes when Wheatley mentioned his name. Without a word, she grabbed Wheatley by the front of his tattered, liquor stained shirt and dragged him away. She took him aboard her ship, into the Captain's quarters, and then drew a sword on him.

"Whoa! Whoa! I'm not looking to get stabbed. Quite the opposite. I think I'm fine the way I am, whole and intact."

Captain Chell made a motion for him to shutup and then she began talking, low and quick.

"I have travelled for the past year, finding every bit of information I could about the Aperture, her crew, and the treasure of Cave Johnson. There was very little. But one source, a reliable source, yielded a crewlist. There was a Mr. Wheatley on the crew of the Aperture. Next to no one would know this information. If this is a coincidence and you are a lying dog trying to profit, then I suggest you walk right off of this ship and never speak to me again unless you want to taste my steel. If you have heard of this Wheatley from another, or you know where he is, I suggest you take me too him, as quickly as possible if you value your life. If you are this Mr. Wheatley, then speak quickly, and briefly, tell me all the information you know."

"I-I-I'm Wheatley. Wheatley's me. Not some other bloke. Me. Also, please don't stab me. That would be awfully kind. I did crew on the Aperture. That's right. Yep."

"Quickly. Briefly," Chell interrupted.

"Ah, right. Well. You see, its a bit of a tale."

Chell glared at him.

"Buuuuut, I'll try to get it out as efficently as possible. Let's see. It was the day I'd been promoted to Powder Monkey. B-before I became a weapon's master, obviously. I'd been the Swabbie before, and when I started talking to the other powder monkeys, weeeeeelll. They didn't take to kindly to me. They said I wasn't a true powder monkey until I had stolen one of the Captain's socks."

Chell raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I know now that that's not a thing. And also, most pirates don't wear socks. Yeah. They...you wouldn't believe this, but people tend to give me a bit of a hard time. Anyway, so I slipped off to the Captain's Quarters. I was looking for a sock, when I heard something coming. So, naturally I hid under the bed. Because...well, it made sense at the time, alright? Stop looking at me like that. Anyway..."

30 YEARS EARLIER

Wheatley was amazed at how dirty it was under the captain's bed. Since it was bolted to the floor, you couldn't move it to clean it, but still, someone should have cleaned under there. When he'd been the swabbie, he'd never been allowed to clean in the captain's quarters, but he was sure the captain was capable of cleaning himself. He should really mention it to him. This amount of dust couldn't be good for the sinuses.

His mind wandered again. He'd recognized the captain by his boots when he had entered the room, and from the whispering, he could discern that he had a woman with him. That had to be Caroline. She was the only woman on the ship. The only woman pirate that Wheatley had ever met, really. The bed shifted above him, and he figured that they must have sitten down.

The whispering stopped. And there was nothing for a while. Wheatley had to stop himself from whistling distractedly. Nothing going on. Just some shifting on the bed. And some soft noises. And. Wait. Was that a moan? What-?

Oh.

God.

Wheatley realized at that moment that people were having sex. On top of him. Mortified, he let out a squeak.

"Did you hear that?" Wheatley heard Caroline say from somewhere above him.

"Yeah," Captain Johnson said. "Probably a rat. Bastards are always all over ships. I try to keep them out of here, but there's only so much I can do. Also some of them got into the repulsion pitch, so now they bounce."

There was a momentary silence. Wheatley could only assume that Caroline was boggling at the idea of bouncing rats as much as he was. He prayed no one looked under the bed, and shoved his knuckles into his mouth to silence himself.

"Should I go kill the blighter?" Captain Johnson asked after a bit.

"No. Um. That's alright. I meant to talk to you anyway. I just got distracted."

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Oh. Nothing much. Just the amulet."

Cave's tone of voice sounded suspicious as he asked, "What about the amulet?"

"Well, I have some concerns about it, sir."

"What concerns?"

"I'm so glad you asked," Caroline said brightly, and Wheatley had to hand it to her: she was good. She'd practically made him ask. "I think the chief concern is best expressed with a breakdown of the name that the amulet is widely known by."

"I'm not following you."

"Well, the 'cursed' bit, for a start. That doesn't sound too promising."

"Hmpf. Everyone says that about things. It's just the sort of talk people use to keep other people from touching their stuff. I'm supposed to have a cursed cutlass, and you touch that all the time!"

Wheatley had to nearly swallow his fist to keep from making a noise.

"Its just a rumor I propogate to make sure none of the men take my lucky cutlass in battle!"

Wheatley breathed a sigh. The cutlass wasn't metaphorical.

"Alright, fair enough," Caroline said, "What about the Mad-Witch Gladys part of the name?"

"Do not tell me that you're scared of a witch!"

"No!" Caroline said sharply.

"Good. Because you're the bravest person I know. Fierce. Sharp. Sparky."

"Thank you, sir."

"Hey, do you remember that time you took that ship all on your own?"

"Oh, sir. The men on that ship were terribly drunk; I don't think it counts. It was a holiday, after all."

"Nonesense! They should have known piracy never takes a holiday. And what about that guy you killed in that port for claiming that you were just playing pirate and should settle down with a nice man?"

"He *did* start a riot. There was so much commotion, it's no wonder he didn't notice me until I'd slit his throat."

"You're too modest. The whole Royal Navy would turn tail if they knew you were on a ship."

"That's probably only true because they assume you would be on the same ship."

"My point stands: you're too tough to be scared of some mad-witch. Now you can't have a quibble about all that immortality stuff, can you?"

"Well, the 'terribly inconvenient' bit sounds a tad ominous."

"Rubbish!"

"I wouldn't want to tell you what to do-"

"Good."

"But I think we should go about things a different way. Achieving immortality would offer a great retirement, but you have to plan. Amass as much treasure as possible, store it on an island. A treasure island."

"Novel idea. Could it also have a cave on the island? I think the pun would work."

"Well, I had an island in mind, actually. It does have a cave."

"Nice. So an island full of treasure. To retire on. When I'm immortal."

"Exactly. And I think you'll need to fill it up before you get the amulet. You don't want treasure hunting to cut into your retirement."

"Hmm. Good point. So what's the next treasure I should go after for my island stash?"

"The Companion Cube. I've got some excellent maps, and-"

"Alright, alright. But back to this potential treasure island you've found."

"Oh, of course. Well the coordinates are..."

30 YEARS LATER

"And then she said the coordinates, which I'm not going to tell you until you give me a cushy retirement package so that I no longer have to work at a bar full of pirates," Wheatley finished.

Chell prodded him rather threateningly with her sword.

"Okay, okay. Yes. I'll tell you them."

Wheatley then said the coordinates.

"Now can I please leave? No money necessary. I'd just like to not die at this point."

Captain Chell shook her head as she put her sword away.

"We set sail tomorrow."

"Wait, what, 'we'?"

Chell huffed. She clearly hated having to waste words.

"I'll let you go. Even pay you off. But *after* you lead me to the treasure cave."

"But, I gave you the coordinates!"

"Insurance. You lie, you die."

"But! I've not even been there that often!"

Chell focused on him fiercely again. "You've been there?"

"Er...oh. No. I mean-"

"You'll show me the way around."

"Did I say I'd been there? Because it was so long ago. I'm sure it's really different now. Full of...you know...booty. And a girl like you, you know. Dangerous. Etc, etc," Wheatley trailed off lamely, withering under Captain Chell's gaze. "So...we'll be leaving tomorrow, yeah? Um. Can you at least call me the Skipper? I always wanted that title."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

True to her word, they sat sail first thing the next morning. Even more shockingly, Captain Chell called him Skipper. He suspected this was more a ploy she used to give him status, and thus, a reason to keep him cloistered away as she mercilessly interrogated him on every detail he had about the island: what it was like, what he'd heard about it, everything.

After hours of Captain Chell's terse questioning, Wheatley was mentally exhausted. He'd just recounted what he remembered hearing under that bed for what was at least the seventh time today.

"That's all that happened! I swear. They found me under the bed after that."

Well that was new information to Chell. She looked interested and made motions for him to continue.

"I'm not sure if that's really germaine to our-"

Chell fiddled with the cutlass she had, hanging from a scabbard at her side.

"Alright, yes, totally germaine. Right, well you see, while I was listening under the bed, I must have carelessly let a foot dangle out from under the bed..."

30 YEARS EARLIER

Something had grabbed hold of Wheatley's foot and was now pulling him bodily out from under the bed. He struggled uselessly for a bit, before he found himself face-to-face with Cave Johnson.

"Waffles?" He said, puzzled. "What the hell are you doing under my bed?"

"It's Wheatley, sir," Wheatley replied. He was laying flat on his back on the floor of the Captain's cabin, looking up at the Captain who was standing over him.

"Get up," Captain Johnson ordered.

Wheatley complied, noticing as he did that Caroline was sitting on the edge of the bed, her body language indicating that she was very uncomfortable indeed with this whole situation.

"You've been listening in the whole time, you, you...Caroline, give me insults!"

"Rapscallion? Rogue? Scallywag? Scoundrel?" Caroline asked, distractedly, clearly more concerned with her own embarrassment than with synonyms.

"No, no, no. Move further down the alphabet."

"Vagabond?"

"Spot on! You *vagabond*!"

"Listen," Wheatley said, "yes, I might have heard everything, but you must know that that was not my intention. I was looking for a sock."

"Likely story. Did you use to crew on the Black Mesa?"

"No, sir!" Wheatley responded, scandalized.

"Do you know what we do to spying bastards who listen in on us?"

Wheatley asked feebly, "Pat them on the back and let them move along?"

"No. Tell them what we do, Caroline."

Caroline looked at Wheatley directly for the first time in the conversation, glaring daggers at him, "We cut out their tongue, gouge out their eyes, and then leave them for dead on a desertted island."

Captain Johnson raised an eyebrow, "We do?"

"We do now," Caroline replied firmly.

Wheatley gulped. He'd always considered Caroline to be rather sweet, outside of the pillaging at least. However, he'd clearly offended her and was about to feel her wrath.

"Look, before we do anything rash, I really think you two should know that most of the crew reckon that you're shagging anyway," Wheatley broke in.

Cave and Caroline stared at him blankly for a bit. It was long enough for Wheatley to realize his mistake.

"Oh. You didn't know that. And also, you were probably talking about the location for the treasure stash. Ah. In that case, I feel as though I need to remind you that I know the location of the amulet. So, yes."

"You don't need your tongue to draw a map," Caroline growled.

Captain Johnson meanwhile burst out laughing. Both Caroline and Wheatley stared at him in bewilderment for a bit.

"Leave the man alone, Caroline. He's CLEARLY an idiot. No one's going to believe anything he says, anyway. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? Its not like he's going to recount this tale, word-for-word, using his freaky little memory, some 30 years from now."

30 YEARS LATER

"Boy, was he wrong, eh? Wrong about a fair amount of things, actually. Lemons, mostly. Oh, well. Hindsight, eh? Anyway, that's why he used me to make treasure runs, since I knew where the place was. Funny, right?"

Captain Chell stared at him, completely nonplussed. She shook her head, and walked out of the cabin they'd been holed up in for the duration of the interrogation, evidentally exasperated and unable to bear to be alone with all that energy and meaningless babbling any longer.

That sort of thing happened to Wheatley with surprising frequency. He took it with the usual good grace.

The trip to the Treasure Cave of Cave Johnson took longer than anyone would have expected based on the distance that had to be travelled. It stormed most of the way, making many of even the most able seamen seasick. The weather on the trip was unusual, some might even say cursed. The men were frightened and in ill-health. Nothing seemed to deter Captain Chell, though. As reports came in of food stores rotting mysteriously, rigging failing, uncommonly bad weather, and other fateful occurrences, Chell said nothing, her face fixed, a mask of determination.

On the 30th day of the voyage, land was spotted. By the next day, everyone could see, unaided by a spyglass, the island. A perpetual gloom surrounded the island. The most obvious feature of the island was a towering, craggy mountain, surrounded on one-side by a forboding looking tropical forest. On the other side, was a cave set back into the mountain. The mouth of the cave gaped open directly into the sea. Stalactites hung down from the lip of the cave, giving observers the impression that the cave was a giant angry monster that was trying to swallow the sea.

As the Porthole approached land, dark clouds amassed around both ship and island, and lightening shot across the sky, accompanied by an ominous clap of thunder.

"Have I mentioned that I think this is a bad idea?" Wheatley said as he leaned over the edge of the ship. "Also, it looks quite a bit more...haunted, than I remember."

Chell said nothing, as she stood behind Wheatley, only moving to motion for a mate to gather the crew.

"So, are we going to sail right up into the cave? The whole ship? Or...what, now? Do you have a plan? I haven't got a plan, so I hope you do," Wheatley nattered as the crew gathered.

Captain Chell suddenly motioned for quiet to the gathering crew and began speaking.

"Prepare a rowboat with three days of provisions. I will be going ashore alone, with only Skipper Wheatley as my guide."

Scattered vocal protests broke out on deck, no one protesting moreso than Wheatley, but Chell silenced all protests with a look before turning to her quartermaster.

"Stay anchored here for three full days and nights. If I have not returned by then, the ship is yours. Do with it as you see fit."

Hushed silence broke out as Captain Chell retired to her quarters, dragging a protesting Wheatley behind her. The crew stood stunned for a moment before quickly jumping to life and preparing the boat.

A mere hour later, Captain Chell and Wheatley were boarding the boat. Wheatley had become increasingly non-compliant, and was being led around at sword-point by the captain. After a while, they were lowered into the water.

"Row," Chell commanded a shivering, miserable Wheatley.

They both began rowing, watching as the Porthole faded off into the distance. As they entered the cave, the musty darkness overcame them, and Captain Chell set about lighting a torch. As the torch flamed into life, both Chell and Wheatley got their first clear view of the inside of the Treasure Cave of Cave Johnson. Wheatley let out a horrified scream. They were 30 or so yards away from the shoreline within the lip of the cave, but lining the shoreline were what looked like hundreds of similar rowboats, in various stages of decay. Around the lines of rowboats were lines of corpses.

Chell remained silent, but her eyes went wide as she took in the view. Wheatley was too busy hugging himself tightly to row anymore, so Chell lit a lantern with her torch, hung the lantern on the boat and continued rowing to the shoreline. She ran into trouble. Half submerged rowboats stuck up near the shoreline like icebergs. It was impossible to pass.

"We'll have to wade to shore. Bring the barrels of supplies," she said, getting out of the boat and taking her lamp.

"Are you mad?" Wheatley asked. "We are literally surrounded by corpses! I'd rather die here than in this...this death cave! Which, by the way, wasn't like this at all. It is definitely haunted now. Bad mojo. They've really let the place go."

Chell unsheathed her cutlass. "Rather die here? That can be arranged."

"Right, yes. Get the barrels. Go to the shore. My apologies."

They made their way to the shore, scrambling over partially rotten boats, trying to avoid the corpses.

"Well," Wheatley said as he looked down on the bodies, "At least they seem long dead. So, you know, maybe whatever did this is done with killing?"

Chell didn't respond. She merely examined the corpses herself, noting that Wheatley was right. The corpses were either mummified or nothing but skeletons. Chell shook her head briefly, and then began working. She pulled the two barrels of water well into the cave where the tide wouldn't get them, and then checked that her canteen and Wheatley's were both fill. She checked their stash of hardtack, and then went about unloading her gun, drying it, and refilling it with fresh powder that hadn't been wetted and ruined by the ocean water. She did all this quickly, efficently, and wordlessly.

Finally, she looked up from all her work and motioned for Wheatley to go deeper into the cave.

The two went deeper, and found themself in a tiny claustrophobic tunnel. The darkness was hard to see through, the tunnel full of twists and turns. They walked side-by-side, the only lught available coming from the lantern Chell had lit. All was silent.

At least it was all silent until they ran into other people.

"Ah! Ghosts!" Wheatley hollered, trying to run away, and failing as he discovered Chell had a deceptively strong grip on him.

"Avast!" Yelled one of the ghosts, as he tried to draw a sword on them.

Chell didn't yell anything as she knocked this "ghost" flat on his rear, disarming him.

"Fact: we're not ghosts," a voice said from the darkness, stepping into the light. His appearance didn't make a convincing argument. He was a very pale young man, tall, thin and sickly looking, with thick dark glasses, and pale eyes that looked almost pink in this light. He had dark, frizzy hair, with sharp figures that made him look perpetually haughty.

"Yeah, we AREN'T ghosts," added the man on the floor, "We're bad-ass pirates."

"Augh! Evil sodomites!" Wheatley hollered.

"No!" The man on the floor said, struggling to get up, but quelling his movements as Chell brandished her sword towards his throat, "No, damnit! The hyphen goes between the bad and the ass. Not the ass and the pirate. Damnit."

"He means no harm," the ghostly man said, rolling his eyes, "He's also majorly in denial. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Craig, a historian. This is my companion and idiot friend Rick."

"And adventurer! And bad-ass pirate!" Rick interjected, "Why do you always forget my epithets?"

"We don't mean you any harm," Craig added, ignoring Rick, "In fact, you can have all the treasure if you'll just step to one side and let us get out of this hellhole."

"He doesn't mean that," Rick said.

"I'm Wheatley and this is Chell," Wheatley said to Rick.

Chell glared at him for speaking.

"What? I was being polite. I mean let's face it: they're sorta idiots."

Chell nodded her head in acceptance, figuring that Wheatley *would* know a fellow idiot when he saw one.

"Whoa," Rick said, properly looking at Chell for the first time, rather than focusing on the tip of her blade, "Helllloooo pretty lady pirate."

"Can we please get past?" Craig said, ignoring all of this.

"Why are you leaving?" Chell asked sharply, motioning to Rick that he could stand up.

"He's leaving because he's a coward," Rick sneered as he stood up, poking at Craig. "Craigy-waigy can't take the heat. Not like me. I'm sexy and brave and devilishly handsome."

"No!" Craig said, his voice surprisingly loud, real anger and terror evident in his tone. "We've been here for 2 days. We found this cavern, not full of treasure, but full of a ship! We went into the ship and then I lost 6 hours! 6 hours where time and space decided it would stop working properly, where I was attacked by bouncing rats, mocked by the bodiless demon voice of a she-devil, lost in the bowels of the old rotting Aperture, suddenly disappearing and reappearing in random places for no reasons, and forced to fight mechanical monstrosities of all kinds. All I want to do is leave this hellish place, and get back to the ship we came here on."

"What ship?" Wheatley asked.

"You mean there's not a ship anchored out there waiting for us?"

"No ship but ours is waiting out there," Wheatley replied.

"Of course not. I told them they could leave. I'd be riding back on the old Aperture," Rick said, looking pleased with himself. "I knew it would be here. No pirate would have a treasure cave without including their ship."

"You WHAT?" Craig asked, "No, I'm okay. Not angry. Not going to panic. We'll just get on your ship."

"They don't take kindly to strangers," Chell said, speaking for the first time. "But if you help me capture the treasure, I'll guarantee your passage. There is treasure, isn't there?"

"On the ship!" Rick said, excitedly, "Lady, I will get you more treasure than you could ever dream of."

"There is treasure on the ship," Craig admitted, "but I implore you. It is not worth it! Turn back."

"None of you understand. I have to do this for my own reasons," Chell said, firmly. "And perhaps the four of us can do together what the two of you could not do alone."

"3," Craig said, "There are 3 of us."

Craig reached behind him and pulled forward a blond haired young boy, his hands bound and his mouth gagged.

"Why do you have a tied up cabin boy?" Wheatley asked.

"Because, if we do this," Rick said, taking out the gag, "Then he does this."

"SEA! Wanna go to sea! Don't like it in the tunnel! Wanna be on a boat. Wanna see the sea. Voyaging afar. Wanna go to sea!"

Rick quickly regagged the young boy.

"He stowed away on the ship we got passage on," Craig sighed, "They made us take him with us when we disembarked. For their sanity."

"Why are you lot here anyway?" Wheatley asked suddenly.

Craig's face suddenly split into a proud grin. "I'd done years of research, until I finally found, in a dusty tome, the hidden location of the Treasure Cave of Cave Johnson. I searched far and wide for the ideal adventurer to help me acquire the treasure. Finally, I found Rick."

Rick puffed himself up.

"He's nowhere near what I wanted, of course, but he was the only man foolhardy enough to volunteer," Craig finished, causing Rick to deflate, "Everyone seemed to believe that this whole treasure was haunted. I thought that was nothing but superstition and ignorance. But as I've seen, I was wrong."

"Yeah, that must be the mad-witch Gladys," Wheatley said, matter-of-factly.

Everyone turned to look at him blankly.

"You lot don't know about the mad-witch Gladys? That myth? About the cursed amulet? No? Really? And you lot call yourself pirates...and historians. Heh. Kids these days. Don't know the old myths."

More blank stares.

"Tell us the story, you idiot," Craig said after a bit, "Explain to me what all this mad stuff going on is all about."

Wheatley shrugged, "If you lot say so. But lessee. Yeah. I've gotta tell this right."

"It was a dark and stormy night. And there once was a mad-witch named Gladys. Wait, I think I mucked that up a bit."

"Just tell the story!" Craig yelled again.

"Right, sorry. There was a mad-witch named Gladys. She was evil and mad and she lived on an island. One day, she decided that she wanted to live forever. So she did some evil magic and put herself in an amulet. However, she did the magic improperly. She was alive, yes, but there was nothing much she could do as an amulet. One thing she could do was sing-"

"Ugh. A ripoff of the Greek Sirens. How played out," Craig muttered. Rick hit him, forcing him to shutup.

"Anyway, she sang. Her song was of power and prestige and eternal life. A young mariner came to the island, drawn by the singing. He went straight to the amulet, yearning to touch it. Taking it in his hand, the mad-witch Gladys worked her magic. She fused the two of them, body and soul, granting the young mariner immortality at a terrible cost. He had given Gladys power and eternal life as well.

"The abomination that was the fused pair stayed on the island for hundreds of years until Gladys began to get bored. Part of being alive was using her magic to torture people, and all she had been torturing was the young mariner.

"So, using the power of the amulet, she began singing again, calling others to her island. She made her island a place of horrors. She could make a man appear and reappear, confusing his senses. She could kill them in a thousand different ways. And if she grew bored of the current man that she had fused with, she could take on another soul, casting the old soul off like a snake sheds their skin.

"But she got bored again. So she took a ship, and she played all these games on ship after ship. Rumor has it that someone with a strong enough will could take the amulet, overtake Gladys and use the power for immortality and power of their own. But most people will just be Gladys' plaything. And of course Captain Johnson went after this amulet, figuring he'd be the one to break the mad-witch and win immortality for himself."

"Why didn't you mention any of this before?" Chell asked as Wheatley finished.

"You didn't ask," Wheatley replied blankly.

"Sounds simple, then. Just let old Rick get ahold of that amulet, and problem solved."

"Don't be an idiot," Craig interrupted. "You, Wheatley. You seem to know a lot about this. Is there any way we could dispossess Gladys of the ship without exposing ourselves to the amulet?"

"I don't even know what half of the words you said mean, mate," Wheatley said.

"Do you know where the amulet is located on the ship?" Chell asked Wheatley, trying a different tact.

"How would he know?" Craig asked contemptuously.

"I crewed on the original Aperture," Wheatley said proudly.

Craig and Rick looked towards Chell and she nodded in confirmation.

"And well, I think I have an inkling of where the amulet would be, yes," Wheatley said.

"Good. We will board the Aperture, make our way to where the amulet is, and make our move from there, doing what we can to remove Gladys from the ship. Agreed?"

"I'll be there with bells on darling," Rick replied with a grin.

"This is dangerous, but at least we know all the facts now," Craig agreed with a nod.

"If I don't agree, you'll kill me, but, ah, let me voice my displeasure with dealing with scary mad-witches," Wheatley added.

"Noted," Chell said sardonically, "Now unbound and ungag the boy. We'll need all the help we can get, even if he's as big a fool as the rest of you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"What'll we do with a drunken sailor, What'll we do with a drunken sailor, What'll we do with a drunken sailor, Earl-aye in the mooooooorning," the young blond-haired boy sang at the top of his lungs, walking in front of the band of misfits, waving a spare stick about like a sword. He then launched into his 10th chorus of 'Drunken Sailor.'

"Shave his balls with a rusty razor!" The boy sang.

"Alright, that's enough, kiddo," Rick said, clapping a hand over his mouth, "Pick another verse. Or how 'bout we play the Quiet Game? It's a game where you stay real quiet."

"Does it have to do with the sea?" The boy asked.

"Uh, yeah, sure, let's go with that," Rick said.

"Gonna be quiet, gonna go to sea," the boy muttered before going completely mute.

With the boy gone silent, Rick took the opportunity to casually saddle up next to Chell.

"So, pirate lady. Like I said, name's Rick. And I believe your strange little friend said you were Chell. What brings you to this incredibly dangerous cave of adventure? S'not safe for the ladies. You just let Ole Rick take care of ya, though. I've learned strange mystical martial arts. Travelled all over the world. You know, I was one of the first civilized men to discover New Zealand. And I was the only anything to find Old Zealand. Pretty, neat, yeah? You're not much of a talker, are you? Strong silent, type. Daddy like."

"Shutup," Craig said. "You're not fooling anyone."

"Don't know what you mean, Craigward."

"Your lady's man act. It's infuriating. And pointless."

"Don't be jealous, Craigerton. It's not my fault the lady's love Rick."

"It's not my fault you have to play out this little facade everytime we meet a woman. And you really shouldn't inflict your 'charms' on everyone."

"Whoa, now Frenchie. That's enough of those big words. Although, may I add Chell, that I am mucho enchante to be introduced to you. And if we had to say dasvadanya, I would be totally le sad."

Craig was just about to make an angry retort when they rounded a bend and walked out of the tunnel and into a cavernous opening. The whole cavern could be discerned, as an eerie green glow seemed to be emanating from nowhere.

The young sea-obsessed boy began letting out a prolonged and high pitched squeaking noise like a kettle coming to a boil. His whole body was shaking in excitement as he pointed to what stood in the dead center of the open cavern. There up ahead was the Aperture, apparently peacefully anchored in an underground lake, cheerfully defying logic as there appeared to be nowhere such a ship could have entered the cavern.

"Back at the ship," the boy said happily, "Gonna go to sea."

"Didn't all the near-death we experienced on board that accursed thing deter you at all?" Craig asked haughtily.

The young boy turned abruptly on his heel, pointing his stick-cum-cutlass at Craig with surprising force, saying, "You must be brave when you are at sea."

"How the bloody hell did it get here?" Wheatley wondered allowed.

"Woulda thought you'd know that Mr. Aperture Crewman," Rick smirked.

"Same way all the other stuff that goes on in here happens: by magic and pure unadulterated evil. That's only my opinion, though," Craig admitted.

"Well, let old Rick go back in that ship, and I'll fix tha( mad-bitch Gladys right up. And by fix, I mean stab with my sword," Rick said, unsheathing his cutlass.

"No," Craig said, his voice gone shrill with fear. "We got split up last time, and it was terrifying."

"We stick together," Chell agreed. "Wheatley will guide us to where the amulet is."

"Erm, yeah," Wheatley said, looking horribly nervous. "God, I hope I'm right about this."

"You and me both, buddy," Rick scoffed.

"Gonna need a weapon if we're gonna go to sea," the boy said, tossing aside his stick and holding out his hand.

"Like we're going to give you a weapon. You'll poke your eye out or something," Rick said.

To Rick's surprise, Chell handed the boy a knife, ignoring Rick's objection. The boy unsheathed it, examining the edge. He seemed contented with what he saw, pulled a bit of leather out of his pocket, and affixed the knife to his thigh.

"The way he held the stick," Chell explained, "I can tell he has some skill with a weapon. We'll have to trust him."

"Now, how did you enter the ship?" Chell asked, turning towards Craig, and ignoring Rick who was doing his best to preen, readjusting his ridiculously overfeathered hat, and nonchalantly ripping his tunic to reveal more of his chest.

Craig pointed, "We swam right up to the edge there and then climbed the rigging. Even though the ship looks as though it has been here a while, the rigging there is still stable and seems new."

"That's cause *she's* luring us onto the boat," Wheatley huffed, "Why won't anyone listen to me?"

Chell ignored them both and took a good look at the ship. It was probably one of the biggest ships that she'd seen in her time at sea.

Seeming to read her mind, Craig spoke, "Research I've done, and first-hand observations indicate that the ship is of a class known as an East Indiaman. It's possible that this ship is the missing Earl of Mansfield, rechristened of course. Legend has it that Cave Johnson took the ship, fresh out of port, still in English waters, with a fierce disregard for the power of the Royal Navy."

Chell couldn't help it as a smile spread over her face. Cave Johnson may have been evil, vile, and mad, but he had a certain flair.

"It was before my time when they captured her, but she sure looks good for having sat here for at least 20 years. Too good. Spooky witch magic, good," Wheatley added.

"We gonna get to sea?" The boy asked, annoyed.

"Hell yes," Rick said, splashing into the underground lake, and making his way towards the ship.

Chell shrugged and waded in, followed by the others. Eventually they began swimming. The group was halfway to the ship when Wheatley started whimpering. Craig, Rick and the boy didn't seem too pleased either. The reason was evident: echoing around the cavern was the haunting sound of a woman singing.

"Sea-witch is singing us a sea-shamty," the boy whispered, eyes wide.

"Oh, it wasn't like this the last time I was here," Wheatley moaned, "It wasn't like this at all."

"What was it like?" Rick asked, "Was it awesome?"

"Well, it wasn't haunted. It was totally different..."

27 YEARS EARLIER

"You know, in hindsight, I'm kinda glad Whiskers found out about the secret treasure cave," Cave Johnson, reclining awkwardly on a group of three chests trussed together, said.

"It's...Wheatley...sir," Wheatley panted, tugging on a thick rope attached to the chests, pulling them out of the tunnel, and into the main cavern. It had been torturous getting all those chests through the tunnels unassisted, especially after Captain Johnson had hopped on for the last dozen feet.

"You're an excellent beast of burden, Whitby. Anyone ever told you that?" Captain Johnson asked. Behind him, emerging from the tunnel as well, was Caroline. Unlike Captain Johnson, she was helping carry some of the treasure, and she sat it down once they reached the cavern.

The cavern looked much different than it would years later. There was no evidence of an undergroun lake, and it was clearer that the cave had a natural luminescence to it that did not seem as forboding because, reflecting off the luminescent cave walls was copious amounts of gold and silver treasure piled into a mountain in the center of the cavern.

Wheatley stopped pulling the treasure and paused for breath.

"Would have been easier if you hadn't piggy-backed on the chests," he said after he'd caught his breath.

"Eh. I got tired," Captain Johnson said, hopping off the chest.

Caroline shot him a look, "Sir-"

He cut her off, "I do not have scurvy! And I'm not eating those lemons. It's bad enough I let you keep those devil fruits on my ship and feed them to my crew."

"Sir, incidents of scurvy have gone down 100% in those sailors who eat the lemons or lemon based products."

"I'm not gonna lie, 100 is a lot of percent, but that's not going to persuade me. Now Whiffles, get to spreading this treasure about."

"Why do I always artfully place the treasure into a massive pile again, sir?" Wheatley asked.

"Whispy," Captain Johnson said, getting really close to him, "You know those old stories about knights and dragons?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You know how they'd pay off a dragon by sending a virgin to be sacrificed, and leaving her in his cave?"

"Erm, yes, sir?"

"And you know how the knight who'd fallen in love with the virgin would go into the dragon's cave?"

"Mmmhmm, sir."

"And you know how when he got inside the cave, the knight would find the dragon sitting on a huge pile of treasure?"

"...Yes."

"Weatherby, I have a dream; I wanna be that dragon. Now you go create my dragon horde, alright?" Captain Johnson said, clapping Wheatley heartily on the back, "And if you find that barrel of Madeira we brought in here last time, bring it over and we'll tap it."

"We, sir?" Wheatley asked, his face lighting up.

"Yep. Me and Caroline. We."

27 YEARS LATER

"The worst bit," Wheatley finished, "is that grammatically, it should be 'Caroline and I.'"

"Man, you are a loser," Rick said.

"How did an underground lake and a giant ship get here?" Craig asked.

"Tired of treading water, wanna board the ship," the boy said, interrupting everyone's train of thought.

Chell nodded in agreement, and motioned for everyone to continue.

"Oh, this is gonna be terrible," Wheatley said as all of them continued swimming to the ship.

The group boarded the ship in the same way that Rick, Craig and the boy had earlier. When they were all on deck, Chell turned to Wheatley.

"Where would the amulet be?" She asked.

"In the Captain's quarters," Wheatley said, pointing, "Just ahead."

Chell sat her face into a determined look and withdrew her cutlass. Everyone who was armed took similar actions. Rick included an unnecessary flourish as he unsheathed his weapon.

"Let's go," Chell said.

They all moved towards the study. That was when the deck opened up below them, sending them plummeting straight down into the bowels of the ship. The last the group heard before blacking out was the low, sadistic chuckle of a disembodied feminine voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Wake up. _

The voice of the mad-witch Gladys echoed through the room as the group stirred.

_I said, 'Wake up.' You're no good to me unconscious. _

Chell got to her feet first, brandishing her sword, and trying to ignore her aching body and pounding head. The others slowly got to their feet, disoriented and unsure. The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, surrounding them and taunting them.

_You thought it would be easy? That I'd just let you walk right up to me, perhaps hand you the amulet and a list of instructions of how to destroy me? You're idiots. Some of you are bigger fools than I've ever met. It's a rare sailor who escapes from me. But only a fool would return willingly. _

"We aren't scared of you!" Rick yelled, trying to make his face as fierce as possible.

_You are sort of proving my point. Only a moron would not be scared of me. _

"I'm scared of you," Wheatley said, "Does that count?"

_Nice try. But I am not gonna spare you. We are going to have some fun. You are, presumably, going to work your way through the ship, trying to get to me, and I am going to find different ways of killing you off one by one. Does that sound like fun?_

"No," Wheatley murmured insolently.

_Too bad, because that is what we are going to do. This should teach you a lesson as to what Gladys does to any sailor fool enough to take her on. _

Suddenly, light poured into the room. It could be seen now that the band was standing in bilge water, in a room that didn't appear to have an exit. Just as suddenly, an exit appeared in the far wall. It seemed to have been done by magic. In fact, that is exactly what caused it.

_Go on. Walk through. And do have fun. _

"Was this what it was like when you were in here earlier?" Chell asked Craig.

Craig nodded, "Pretty much. We didn't fall through, though, and we were stupid enough to have had split up."

"We have no choice. We have to play by her rules. Beat her at her own game," Chell said grimly.

"Explode her until she's the ghost of a ghost," Rick added unhelpfully.

"Actually, we could just sit here, refuse to play by her rules, and maybe wait until she gets bored with us and lets us go," Wheatley suggested.

"It is statistically more likely that she will let us die here," Craig said. "I am unwilling to do that. I've had multiple potential deaths presented to me today. I'd much prefer to take the death where I do something."

"Now you're getting it, sissy boy," Rick said, clapping an arm around Craig in a gesture of friendship. "That's the spirit of adventure."

Craig rolled his eyes, but didn't shrug off Rick's friendly half-hug.

"Gotta take the ship. Then take the ship to sea," the young boy said, stepping through the only exit that the bilge room had.

"I'm starting to like that kid," Rick said, going after him as the others followed.

The room they entered was pitch dark, and as soon as they'd all stepped

through the entrance, their lone exit shut up behind them.

"That's ominous," Wheatley said to the blinding darkness.

Wordlessly, Chell pulled out a tinderbox, set it alight, and looked around for a spare bit of wood. She found what appeared to be some dunnage. Quickly she had a torch lit, which she handed wordlessly to Craig. It was clear from the dunnage that they were in a hold. It was even clearer that they were in a hold by the huge mass of treasure.

Chell took a quick breath in through her nose at the sight of it.

"Now that's looking familiar," Wheatley said, stepping forward towards some of the treasure, to only, upon stepping on a specific plank, be flung into the air, arcing into the mass of treasure.

"Well, that's new," Rick said, "Looks like fun too."

Rick moved forward to step on it, but Craig restrained him.

"Don't you ever think before you act? That thing could kill you," Craig said, before bending down to examine the plank. "Fascinating. This appears to be some sort of clever mechanical contraption. Sort of an aerial flight plank."

"It's not deadly," Wheatley moaned from amidst the miscellaneous gold and silver items he was wallowing. "Just painful. Think I might have a goblet stuck in my kidneys. And don't bother asking how poor Wheatley's doing or nothing."

Chell examined the plank herself. "Booby trap. We best avoid them. Wheatley's probably lucky to have landed where he did. Broke his fall. If he fell from a greater height it might break his neck. They don't look much different than regular planks, though."

"There must be something that marks them as different from normal planks," Craig said, looking closer, examining the other planks around it. "Ah-ha. Look. There's a faint bluish indentation on the aerial flight plank. Perhaps from the glue that they used to attach the mechanism."

Chell nodded. "We should tread carefully," she glared pointedly at Rick, "*Carefully.*"

Wheatley scrambled to get to his feet on the pile of treasure, dislodging some pieces, which in turn slid off the pile and onto the ground. Some landed on the flight planks, flying through the air, forcing Wheatley to duck lest he be hit by one of the projectiles.

_Death by treasure, _the mocking voice of Gladys said, _such an ironic way to die for a pirate. _

Some of the group jumped at Gladys' voice.

_Surprised, are you? As long as you are on my ship, you are in my control, which means I can see anything you do. I am frankly surprised the aerial faith plank worked on the cyclops there. He is such a porky pirate. _

_And don't think the aerial faith planks are the only surprises I have for you. Ask the boy, the foolhardy one, and the smart-aleck what other tricks I am capable of. _

Chell pointedly ignored the voice, and began moving towards the pile of treasure. It was blocking their way and they would need to climb it to get through the room. However, as Wheatley had earlier proved, dislodging anything from the pile could prove dangerous. She avoided the flight planks and reached the edge of the pile.

"Go over Wheatley," Chell ordered. "Climbing the pile is dangerous. We should do it one-by-one. Watch for flight planks on the other side."

Wheatley gave a nod and then began attempting to climb over. At first he was very cautious, but as he still managed to dislodge pieces of the pile, and as treasure began to take flight, he panicked, his cautious steps turning into a scramble, causing more and more treasure to dislodge. As Wheatley reached the apex of the pile and began sliding down the other side, treasure dislodged from the pile on the opposite side, landing on flight planks over there. The flight planks were evidentally pointed in opposite directions on each side of the pile, and treasure began raining down on the others. Chell, Rick, Craig, and the boy all had to dodge flying goblets, jewelry, crowns, and other priceless goods all while making sure they didn't stand on a flight plank.

"Um. I'm on the other side," Wheatley said finally, "Sorry about that."

"You almost killed us!" Craig shouted.

"Look, it's easier said than done to cross the pile! I'm sorry, alright."

"I'm going over next," Chell said, "Stop arguing."

_The *girl* is going over next? That's not very chivalrous of you, is it, Foolhardy?_

"Hey, yeah. Sexy voiced evil-witch is right. Stand back, pretty lady. Let Rick show you how it's done," Rick said.

"No!" Craig said, trying to hold Rick back, but it was too late.

Rick hopped over a flight plate, and midway up the pile which juddered ominously as he landed much too heavily on it, overbalanced, and clumsily began climbing up using a crawl, destabilizing the whole thing.

"Damnit!" Chell said, "Quick, everyone over. It's going to fall!"

"Now hold on, pretty lady," Rick said, trying to stop Chell's ascent.

Infuriated, Chell elbowed Rick in the nose.

"Let me go. Climb over!" Chell shouted.

Craig, the young boy, and Chell all began ascending the unsettled pile of treasure, Rick trailed behind, clutching his nose, which was now bleeding. The pile of treasure began to avalanche, a hail of treasure flying at them. A dubloon clipped Craig on the elbow hard enough to draw blood, but he still managed to hold onto the torch and somehow they made it over, safe and relatively sound.

"Why would you listen to *her*?" Craig asked Rick, clearly infuriated, once everything had calmed down again. "Don't ever do that again! You could have gotten yourself killed."

"She had some pretty good points," Rick said.

"No, she didn't," Craig growled. "You have no grasp of facts or reality."

"Can I just point out, that it was, in fact, easier said than done?" Wheatley said.

"Shutup!" Craig and Rick both yelled at the same time.

"Rats," the young boy said.

"No need to get bent out of shape, little guy," Rick said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We weren't really fighting. Rick and Craig aren't mad at each other and they still love you very much."

"No," Chell said, pointing ahead, "Rats."

In the distance, the glowing beady eyes of a massive hoard of rats could be seen.

"Is it just me or are they looking at us?" Wheatley asked.

"Oh no," Craig whispered apprehensively, "Those aren't the bouncing ones, are they?"

But even as they said that, they rodents began bouncing towards them, foaming from their mouths, and revealing unusually sharp teeth.

"Kill them!" Chell ordered, unsheathing her cutlass as the rats began bearing down on them.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Chell had once been at sea when a hurricane blew through the Carribbean. The force with which the wind blew the rain and hail down around her had made it seem as though she was being attacked by a living thing: a teeming mass of nature. The sound had been unbearably loud, driving her near to the point of deafness.

The attack by the bouncing rats was quite similar to this.

"Oh God, give me a weapon, give me a weapon, give me a weapon," Wheatley screamed as the rats bounced around them.

Chell placed a cutlass in his hand to shut him up, and then yelled through the screeching, squealing din, "I think I see an exit head! Keep going."

The others lashed out, trying to strike the rats down. Sometimes their cutlasses or knives simply bounced off the animals, and when they did kill one, the corpse kept bouncing around even after death. Noting this, Chell took to staking the rats through with her cutlass. The young boy followed her example astutely, while Craig tried his best to immitate. Wheatley continued to fight in his own style which involved, principally, flailing about with his cutlass, eyes partially closed, screaming in terror. Rick tried to strike an action pose each time he struck out.

It was slow-going, but eventually they spotted an exit. As they were hacking their way through the rats, the group disappeared, only to reappear again in five different locations in the hold.

Wheatley let out a strangled holler in shock.

"And that, would be the teleporting," Craig shouted over the din.

"What controls it?" Chell asked.

_I do. That didn't take you nearly long enough. Try again. Entertain me, or you'll be starting over again. _

"Not a problem, strange disembodied witch voice," Rick said. "Check it out!"

Rick proceeded to sheath his cutlass and then began punching, kicking, and generally fighting the rats.

"Black belt in rat smiting, baby," he said as he continued on with his unathletic, awkward karate routine.

The others ignored Gladys' taunt and continued on. The young boy was running into some trouble, however. He had kebabed so many rats on his small knife that he had room for no more. He tried to remove the corpses, but they tended to collide with other rats and bounce away, worsening the problem. Frustrated, he had to cling to his rat covered knife and try to cower, pushing his way through the storm of rats.

Chell had made it to the exit again, but stood there, waiting for the others, lest when she exited Gladys decided to isolate her from the group.

However, as Chell stood firm, watching the others make their way once again towards the exit, something awful happened. Craig, still holding the torch, watched in horror as a bouncing rat passed right through the flame of his torch, instantly catching alight. As the rat bounced off and into other rats, a chain reaction occured, with rat after rat catching on fire. Flaming rats flew around them, catching bits of the group as well as bits of the hold on fire. They desperately tried to put the fires out.

And then, one rat richoceted into the exit that was the group's destination. There was a hissing sound, and a realization dawned on Chell. She knew what room they'd been about to enter.

"Take cover!" Chell hollered.

"That's what I've been trying to do," Wheatley whimpered, cowering.

And then an explosion rocked the adjacent room. A plume of fire whooshed out of it, throwing everyone off their feet, sending rats everywhere.

Chell must have blacked out for a moment. The next thing she remembered, she was looking up at the others.

_Is she dead? No? I'll just have to try harder next time, _Gladys said, disappointed.

Chell got to her feet, ignoring the pain down her left side, which had been singed. The good news was that the fire and explosions had killed the rats and burned off the repulsion pitch, rendering them a non-threat.

Wheatley reached out a hand for Chell, and asked with genuine concern, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Chell said, helping herself up, and pulling dead scorched rats from her cutlass. "Just singed. The more important thing is that we should know even the exits are a trap."

"How do you mean, pretty lady?" Rick asked, confused.

Craig nodded at Chell and explained, "The powder room was clearly compromised: probably had leaked powder all over it. Had we walked in there with my torch alight, it would have taken one spark to blow us to the next life. In a way, the bloody rats saved us."

"Fiery, not bloody," the boy said, "Sea rats were on fire."

_Clever, _Gladys said, although a note of real admiration could just about be detected in her voice. _But knowing there's a trap and being able to escape from a trap are two different things. _

"I'm really started to get annoyed by all her crazy talk," Rick huffed.

"That's what she wants," Chell said, before motioning to the next room.

"You sure we'll be safe in there? You said the exits were a trap," Wheatley said with some degree of agitation.

Craig snorted, "You idiot. Nothing would survive that explosion."

And Craig proved correct. As they entered the powder room they found a charred husk. The pressure had partially stripped away some of the floor and side boards and blown open the hatch to the deck above, the only exit open to them.

"Do you remember the layout of the ship?" Chell asked Wheatley.

Wheatley tapped the side of his head, "Mind like a bear trap."

"Steel trap," Craig corrected with some annoyance.

"Above us is the weapon's store and constable's quarters," Wheatley retorted to Craig, sticking out his tongue.

"Weapons out, then," Chell said.

She waited patiently as the young boy threw the rats that had been skewered on his knife out of the ship, one-by-one through a cracked plank.

"Why do we need weapons?" Wheatley asked puzzled. "The constable isn't going to be alive up there and ready for a fight."

"How do we know that after everything that has happened?" Craig asked angrily.

Wheatley frowned, pursed his lips and mumbled to himself.

"Now don't fight, boys," Rick said, clapping a hand on both of them. "If we don't look after this little lady, who will?"

"She will?" Both Craig and Wheatley asked at the same time.

"Poisedon, God of the Sea?" offered the boy.

"No, damnit! We'll look after her. Cause we're men. And Craig. And that boy."

Captain Chell ignored them all and climbed up out of the hatch. The others moved to catch-up, with everyone, even the boy, glaring angrily at Rick. As they met up with Chell on the upper level, two things happened simultaneously: 1) the hatch they'd come through closed and disappeared and 2) a strong wind came out of nowhere, blowing out Craig's torch.

_I have a surprise for you, _Gladys said. _No peeking. _

As the assembled group looked around in the dark, bewildered, wondering where the next attack would come from, tense, they tried to see something, anything, in the pitch black.

And then a sound. A hissing, whirring, sound. The clicking sound of a clockwork mechanism, the sound of steam, the clink of soldered metal, moving.

"Oh god," Craig whispered in a harsh voice, "the mechanical horrors."

In front of them, soft red lights became visibles. The light came from a glowing lantern, roughly in the chest area of the THINGS which stood in front of them. The things were short, made entirely of brass, roughly human, no *child* shaped, with spindly appendages. Whirring clockwork mechanisms dotted the creatures' bodies and steam softly puffed out of what would have been their ears, had they been fully human. On top of their bodies sat what could only be described as their heads, complete with glowing glass discs that served as eyes, and a grill where their mouth would have sat. They moved with an odd grace, the tiny clockwork mechanisms visible in their bodies oddly beautiful.

And on either side of their chests, were affixed a row of barrels. Barrels that probably went to guns.

"Hello?" A few of the child-like mechanical robots asked, their heads titling from side to side, their glass eyes alight, tracking the group in the near complete darkness.

"I see you," others said, their tinny, child-like voices oddly beautiful.

And then they started shooting at them.

"Hide!" Craig yelled, "If they can't see you, they won't shoot!"

Everyone ducked behind barrels, gun racks, desks, anything they could find.

"Are you still there?" All the robot children asked in eery unison.

"They aren't very accurate. And slow. And can't tell where you are by sound," Craig continued. "If we sneak up behind them, we can disarm them."

Chell peaked her head out from behind where she was hiding, to see the child robots ambling around, glass eyes searching.

"There you are!" One burbled happily as it saw Chell. Chell ducked back behind her hiding spot.

"Target lost," the robot said sadly as Chell disappeared.

"We need a decoy," Chell decided.

"Make Wheatley do it," Rick said cockily. "Wait? Where is Wheatley?"

"Hiding. And not going. And hiding in a really great spot," Wheatley said, although it was hard to tell where his voice came from.

Chell had a better idea. "Then I don't know what to do. I'm so..." A pause as Chell grit her teeth, "Frightened and overwhelmed. Rick, can you kill those evil metal creatures for me?"

"No problemo, pretty lady. In fact, I've been hoping you'd ask. Now watch this!"

Rick sprung out from the barrel he'd been hiding behind, gesticulating wildly. The attention of the metal children all snapped towards Rick.

"There you are!" The metal children all said in unison, targetting him and firing

Rick moved wildly, trying to avoid their bullets, and lashing out ineffectively at the nearest robots.

Meanwhile, Chell had crept up behind the distracted metal children, jamming their mechanisms, pushing them over, destroying the steam powered bits that ran them.

All was going quite well until Rick finally managed to down one by accident. It fell, its head rolling towards where Wheatley was hiding.

"I don't blame you," the head garbled at Wheatley, the light fading from its glass eyes.

Petrified by this reaction, Wheatley sprung from his hiding place and beat a land speed record as he ran to the exit of the weapon's room and left the others alone. The young boy, seeing this, and assuming an all clear, sprung from his hiding place, just in time to see Chell down the last metal child. As it fell, it became apparent that Rick was in the line of fire for the last burst of bullets. Unexpectedly, Craig burst out of his hiding place, tackling Rick to the ground, saving him from becoming a very dead and bullet-riddled adventurer.

"Craig," Rick said shocked, "you saved me."

"Of course I did," Craig said, although he seemed a bit shocked at his actions.

Their happy reunion was ended abruptly as the young boy began wailing frantically, "Shot at sea! Shot at sea! Help! Shot at sea!"


End file.
